


Windows To The Soul

by GeekishChic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I have no idea what I'm doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:42:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2343914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekishChic/pseuds/GeekishChic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don't even know. Seriously. I  bolted awake to the sound of this relentlessly pounding on my Mind Palace door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Windows To The Soul

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this will be, if anything.

Doctor Watson was a lovely man, clever and kind. He possessed all the confidence to perform admirably in his profession but exactly none of the cockiness. He liked a warm jumper with a bold pattern and a hot cuppa of a morning. He liked intelligence, and a good heart. He liked kids and great drooling dogs and wanted a couple of his own someday. He was golden like early morning sunlight and honey. 

 

Captain Watson J. H. was a simple man, orderly and efficient. He was to obey and be obeyed. He was adaptable, able to tailor his tactical approach to fit terrain both under his feet and under his hands, inside and outside of the human body.  He was part of a unit, a machine working toward the greater good. He liked a good lager, good legs and a good arse and wanted those under his hands sometimes, too. He was a majority, true blue and deep.

 

John was a bit more difficult to explain.

 

John stayed in the shadows because light was for beings like those other two.  He liked to go fast and hard and people mistook that for wild, but he separated savage from uncontrolled. Everything he did was deliberate despite the speed and level to which his actions were taken. Contrary to the belief of the few who lived through an encounter with John, he wasn't Death. But they were on a first name basis with each other. Sometimes it was a nod in the hallway as they passed each other, other times it was an arm wrestling match three pints in on a pub night. John liked whiskey. He smelled of firearm lubricant and spent rounds and the complete absence of fear. He was sharp shards of gunmetal grey.

 

 


End file.
